


better to hope

by bestie



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, Vaguely angst-y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9672872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestie/pseuds/bestie
Summary: “I feel alive.” Genji rolls his shoulders, gives Jesse a pointed look. “And like I’m missing an arm.”





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a gift for @koujakward on tumblr, as part of the mcgenji valentine exchange!

“…lost a large amount of blood,” he hears someone say; her voice is high, lightly accented around the vowels of English. “He should … just a few hours ... don’t worry…”

A hand squeezes his. The fingers are cold and metal, scratched to hell and back again.

The world in front of Genji is a confusing blur of movement and light. When he breathes, he feels his lungs rattle, and when he tries to move, he feels every inch of his body protest in pain. Each bump of the stretcher he’s on sends another wave of pain through him. There’s blood somewhere, multiple places even; he can’t tell exactly where it’s coming from, but he’s sticky with it and the stench is more than a little overwhelming.

When the stretcher comes to a stop, somebody stoops down low to murmur to him, “I’ll see you later, alright?”

_I’m not so sure about that_ , Genji thinks, but all he manages to say out loud is a vaguely affirming “yeah.” And that’s enough for whoever is manning the stretcher, because he’s pulled away not even a second later. The hand in his slips from his grasp, and the sliding doors to what he assumes is one of the operating rooms closes with a foreboding thud.

This is a routine Genji is all too familiar with. He closes his eyes, trying to will the pain to take him out first. It doesn’t work, though, and after all the armor is pried off his body, there’s a mask placed over his face, and the sickly-sweet smell of anesthesia overtakes him instead as he struggles against it.

In the space between awake and asleep, it’s silent, dark. Genji has a few precious moments to consider whether he’s staring into the emptiness of death.

* * *

When Genji awakens, it’s to the shaded darkness of a recovery room. The blinds are drawn tight, and the only sound is the steady beeping of his heart monitor, the drip-dripping of the IV connected to one of his many ports, and the quiet breathing of Jesse McCree, slumped in a seat in the corner of the room.

_Ah_ , Genji thinks to himself. _That’s right. I almost died._

Or at least that was how it felt.

The memories that lead up to his injury are still fuzzy. He can recall leaving on a mission with Jesse and a handful of other agents, but it goes blank before he’d even gotten off the ship at wherever their assignment was.

He wants to wake Jesse up. It’s selfish, because who knows how long he’s been asleep and Jesse has been awake, but he almost _died_ , so that should count for something, right?

“Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse. Jesse does not stir, so he repeats himself, louder this time: “ _Hey_.”

Nothing. Jesse snores, but that’s it.

Scoffing to himself, Genji shifts, using an elbow to prop himself up. He makes it midway to a sitting position before something in his body vehemently protests, sending a surge of pain and nausea that tells him ‘lay back down, you _idiot_.’ So he does, and he falls asleep without really trying not even a few minutes later.

* * *

The next time Genji wakes up, Jesse is awake too. He’s pulled his chair up close to the bed, upper body bent over something with wires spilling out of it as he works at them, one by one. Reconnecting them, tying them into manageable sections – it’s all very familiar, and Genji realizes a bit belatedly that it’s his own arm.

“Hey,” he says quietly, turning his head to look at Jesse better through the gap in the railing of the bed.

Jesse startles, pulling hard on a wire and nearly snapping it. “Hey,” he says back, a bit breathless. There’s a steadily widening grin on his lips, like he can’t help _but_ grin. “Hey, you. Feelin’ alright?”

“I feel alive.” Genji rolls his shoulders, gives Jesse a pointed look. “And like I’m missing an arm.”

“Oh.” Jesse looks down at Genji’s arm, then back up at Genji, blinking wide. “Oh, right, yeah. Sorry, uh, Angela asked me to – to give this a look; she said it was pretty banged up, and I was hopin’ to get it done before you woke up again, but…”

“It’s okay,” says Genji, smiling something small and careful. “Are you having trouble with it?”

In truth, it doesn’t look like he is at all, but Genji is unused to being laid out with nothing to do. There’s not much he can do with one functioning and attached arm, but there should be _something_ —

Jesse shakes his head, setting back to work. “I’ve got it,” he says. “Gimme a few more minutes, and then I’ll get it attached to you again. Sound good?”

“Sure,” says Genji.

There’s nothing else he can say.

Waiting is uncomfortable. He can’t think of anything to say, doesn’t know if he should, doesn’t _want_ to, and so he lies there, watching through the bed railing as Jesse separates the wiring into little groups, three by three with a different brightly-colored elastic band for each one. It’s nothing like the way his other arm is organized, and Genji knows this because he was the one to organize that. It was all knotted and tangled, barely held together by stretched out bands that were about ready to retire from their job.

Genji knows the inside of Jesse’s arm too, though, and it’s organized in the same way that Jesse is doing now. Should he be thankful? Smitten? Awed?

Jesse snaps an elastic band tight against the last group of wires, then slides the paneling shut. Hefting the heavy prosthetic up with one arm, he scoots even closer to Genji’s bed and lowers the railing with his other arm by leaning on it. The sight of Jesse, slowly descending upon the bed railing, is just enough to get Genji to laugh for the first time since he’s originally woken up. It’s more a huff of air, barely even a chuckle, but it’s something.

“ _That’s_ the Genji I know,” Jesse mutters, his voice smug and giddy at the same time.

“Shut up,” says Genji, but it’s hard to sound annoyed at the person who’s stayed by his bedside for an entire day at the least. “Give me my arm back.”

With the railing out of the way, Jesse can lean over to slide the prosthetic into place. It’s careful work; he has to hook the wires up with their connections, then lock the prosthetic into place before he can open up the paneling again to make sure the wires are actually hooked up into the right connections.

Genji can’t feel it when Jesse first starts checking the wires, which is a strong sign that something in there isn’t hooked up right.

“Try the red group,” says Genji, referring the bright red band around a small bundle of wires. “Those are for touch reception, if I remember correctly…”

Jesse snorts. “Considerin’ the concussion you’ve got, that may not be the case,” he mumbles, but he follows the suggestion anyway under Genji’s watchful, narrowed – albeit far from actually angry – eyes. A spark and a jolt of surprise from the both later, it’s clear they’re on the path to figuring things out.


	2. 2

Genji is supposed to rest. His body is healing, and it will heal faster than an average human, but he needs to _rest_. Angela gives him such a disapproving look when she walks in to find Jesse huddled in the already-cramped bed beside Genji as the two watch a movie on his phone that, for a moment, Genji actually feels guilty.

But after she gives him a mild berating, and especially after she’s left and is assumed far away enough to not hear them anymore, Genji laughs. It’s been days of nothing but bed-rest, and it’s the first time in those days that he manages a real, tangible _laugh_.

* * *

“I cannot believe you did this,” Genji hisses, watching as Hana and Lúcio set up the portable stovetop they’ve somehow managed to smuggle into his room. “This is so _stupid_ —”

“Relax, Shimada,” says Hana, sprawled out on the seat that Jesse had been occupying most of the past few days. “Nobody will care if you eat _one_ thing that isn’t part of your special diet.”

“Well, they might,” says Lúcio. “I mean, generally if a doctor puts you on a special diet, there’s a reason for it…”

Hana squints at him. “What, do you have a PhD, Doctor Lúcio?”

“Not yet, but I’m workin’ on it, thank you very much,” Lúcio snaps back. He manages to find an empty plug somewhere in the midst of all the medical equipment that’s keeping Genji somewhat healthy in his recovery, and after he plugs the stovetop in, he pops back up from behind Genji’s bed. “It’s just common sense, Hana. Generally, you’re _supposed_ to listen to your doctor.”

“Since when does Shimada ever listen?”

“She has a point,” Jesse supplies from his corner of the crowded room. “I mean, that’s how he ended up here in the first place.”

* * *

The smell of instant ramen has never been a more comforting smell than it has now. Genji breathes in the scent of salt and chicken flavoring, his eyes fluttering shut. This, for some damned reason, is all he’s wanted practically since waking up, and now he’s getting it.

Hana and Lúcio were kind enough to provide an assortment of toppings for their ramen. It’s tempting to dump everything into the one pot, but he glances aside at Jesse, watching a moment as he ponders over which of the five different ramen packages to choose next; they have a lot more to go through, and they’ll need plenty of toppings to help supplement their excuse of ‘but we _made_ it healthy.’

Jesse looks up, catching Genji staring at him, and smiles wide.

“Shrimp-flavored next?” he asks, holding up the mentioned package and giving it a light shake.

Genji looks away as quick as he can manage, focusing hard on the boiling pot of ramen on the stovetop. “Sure,” he answers. “Whatever you want. I chose first, after all.”

“But you’re the injured one, so your choice is final.” Jesse says that like it’s the most obvious thing ever, his expression more bemused than anything else. “’Fraid that’s just how things are gonna work ‘round here until you’re better, Genji.”

“Sounds like a stupid way to run things,” Genji mutters, but he smiles too.

* * *

 They’re midway through their third pot when Genji taps out.

“C’mon,” says Jesse, egging him on with a mouthful of beef-flavored ramen and fried chicken from a grocery store, “you’ve barely ate ‘til now. Just a couple more bites, huh? For me? Ple-ease?”

“I’ll take another wing,” Genji mumbles. “No more ramen, though. I’ve had enough of this for the next year, I think.”

Frowning, Jesse pushes the box of fried chicken across the small table they have to share. “Eat as many as you want, considerin’ now I’m gonna have to finish _this_ —” he takes another bite of ramen, slurping it up for effect, “—all on my own now.”

Genji rolls his eyes as he takes a wing from the box and chomps down on it. “Good luck,” he says through his own mouthful. “You are going to need it.”

* * *

Nighttime comes around again, the same time Lúcio and Hana return to smuggle out the stove and pots before Angela could find them on her nightly check-up. Genji and Jesse stay separated until she’s done, but the moment she closes the door behind her, Jesse’s shucking off his boots and climbing into the bed as Genji scoots aside to make room for him. They’re being so secretive about this that it’s almost – almost definitely, in fact – absolutely ridiculous.

“We’re acting like teenagers,” says Genji. “We’re in our thirties, McCree.”

“You almost died,” says Jesse. “I’m alright with this.”

Genji can feel the stitched-up wounds on his side, his stomach, and his head is still pounding, even days later. “I didn’t almost die, though,” he says. “I wouldn’t be like this if I did. You know that. I know that.”

“Well,” says Jesse. He shifts, holding Genji closer, tighter. “Sure felt that way to me. Seein’ you like that, just bleedin’ out, barely even lookin’ at me… That’s not…” He sighs heavily. “Not to ruin the mood, of course, but God, Genji, that’s not somethin’ I _ever_ want to see again.”

“I—” Genji furrows his brow. _That’s right_ , he thinks to himself, _McCree is—_ “I’m … sorry.”

“It ain’t your fault, Genji,” Jesse murmurs. His fingers run through Genji’s hair, black and speckles of grey. He sounds – _tired_. “I just want you to be safe. Simple as that.”

“That is hard to manage in our line of work.” Genji smiles, tracing the dents and scratches of McCree’s own prosthetic. “You’re asking for a miracle, Jesse.”

“Better to hope for a miracle than expect the worst.”

Genji simply hums in response.


End file.
